


Viola Sororia

by satiresaturday



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, POV Second Person, it's not everyone's cup of tea but it's what i wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satiresaturday/pseuds/satiresaturday
Summary: Roses are red, violets are blue.That's it. There are violets that are actually blue. Look it up.





	Viola Sororia

You see her with her fashionable outfit and flawless makeup, walking with her head held high and you have two thoughts in rapid succession.  _ Gods, I hate her  _ and  _ Fuck, I’m gay. _

The second one hits twice as hard as the first, like a punch to the gut hard enough to spill your lunch all over the courtyard at your feet. You remember thinking, if you were born solely to develop a crush on Billie Ng, so be it. You could die like this.

She’s like a movie star, shiny and untouchable and you think you might pass out if she looks at you for too long, but you don’t. You fumble awkwardly when she greets you and you feel electric when she remembers your name.

_ Aphrodite cabin,  _ she recalls, smiling like the sun and making your cheeks bloom like summer flowers. You wonder if that’s just what Demeter kids do; make plants grow inside the hearts of whoever they choose. Maybe all the gods are love gods, after all.

You get granted permission to spend the day at her side, doing tasks for the camp and pretending you aren’t hanging off every word she says. She tells you her favorite color and the names of all her pets and her embarrassing childhood memories and you wish you could pin her on a page, tack a list of the things that make her laugh to the back of your mind, and memorize her the same way you know all the songs on your iPod. You want to be someone she wants to memorize her.

She tells you she wants to hang out again when the sun is low and you promise her the rest of your time left on the earth and she laughs. Says that tomorrow she’ll be by your cabin to get you.

You don’t fall asleep for a long time. You stare at the ceiling in the dark and listen to the sounds of your godly-parent siblings snoring in their beds.

The next day is similar to the first. You follow her around the camp, mimicking her confident stance and bold personality until you believe yourself to be brave enough to make a move.

When you ask her about romance, she clams up, pretends she isn’t the type for it. She’s so convincing that you almost believe her when she tells you she hasn’t dated a boy since the fifth grade.

It’s that wording that gets you.  _ A boy. _

You think you get it. She doesn’t want to admit she likes girls and, hell, you don’t want to admit it either. You just met her and she could be the kind of person you regret telling, but you don’t hold back. You spill your sexuality into the flowerbed you’re working in beside her and the blue violets glare up at you when Billie falls silent.

She looks over at you, face smudged with soil and pretty outfit stained green by crushed weeds. She looks at home like this, surrounded by growth and things that make people smile when they’ve had a rough day. She’s trying to determine if she can trust you and you know that just by the way she looks in your eyes. You wait in anticipation, but also in terror as the seconds between you stretch on for miles.

_ Me too,  _ she responds at last.


End file.
